


Memoirs (Cryaotic/Reader)

by In_Wolfs_Clothing



Category: cryaotic, youtube - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, M/M, Reader Insert, YouTube, Youtuber - Freeform, x Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:57:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Wolfs_Clothing/pseuds/In_Wolfs_Clothing
Summary: Cryaotic x Reader one-shot. "You hoped that he liked the book."





	Memoirs (Cryaotic/Reader)

Death isn’t a rare phenomenon - in fact, it happens every second of every day. It’s such a common thing, and yet, when you suddenly have to face it, you’re fearful. You’re shocked, confused, hurt. The list goes on as grief overcomes happy memories and the reminisce of a person that used to be. But why?

You’ve considered how odd this situation is: clutching vines of winter jasmine and a book while looking down at the body that used to shelter your best friend, irked by the fact that his skin looked too pale and his hair too straight. They had left his casket wide open and his face unmasked, leaving his body to be examined by wandering eyes. You couldn't stand knowing that most of the people at this funeral had never seen him before, and simply showed up out of curiosity. You wanted to wrap your arms around his waist and drag him out of the coffin, pressing his head into your neck as if to protect the one part of him that he never wanted to reveal. But maybe it didn't matter now. This wasn't your best friend, not anymore; it was just the empty vessel in which he used to reside.

The flowering shrub was beginning to itch and the book was slipping in your sweaty palms, but you couldn’t bring yourself to set them down on the pinstriped, black jacket that had been tailored to fit him perfectly. And instead of crying or feeling uncomfortable around a dead body, you pondered why grief existed. You wondered if he was looking down, his soul flushing at the thought of so many finally observing what he had tried his hardest to hide.

These thoughts slowly withered you, and you couldn't help the frown that was beginning to etch itself onto your lips. You readjusted the book against your hip, fighting back the tightness in your throat. The weathered leather of its cover rubbing against your palm was a clear reminder of the instant in which he had first gifted it to you. He had bought it after you admitted your more than platonic feelings, and he had told you to write down what you saw in him. He had said, maybe then he could appreciate himself as much as you did. Soon, your ramblings of infatuation had become almost story-like, and it was no longer just descriptions of his features and personality, but tales of the little things he had done that would send your heart into a frenzy.

If only you had known that the week after you began writing, he would slip from life. You would've loved to see the expressions on his face, that he had saved for you, as he glanced over the many words that were only intended for him. You had dreamed of him loving you for more than just the words that you wrote of him. But now, the pages were only filled with fond memoirs that he could not read. And his heart was too dead to love even that small part of you.

Breathing slowly out of your nose, you took a few steps closer and closed your eyes as you nestled the small, golden flowers against his torso. You hesitated a moment before letting your eyelids slide open again, shoulders tensing at the sight of his lifeless face and an engraved golden plate with his name. Your trembling fingers grasped his own as your lips pursed, eyes beginning to feel warm. Carefully, slowly, you tucked the book under his rigid palm before moving back from the coffin. It was only then that ponders about grief and thick veils ceased as you let it all consume you. Collapsing into the nearest church pew, you covered your face with your palms and sobbed. Your heart seemed to clench, nerves reduced to nothing.

“(Y/N)?” someone called, but you couldn’t respond.

You hoped that he liked the book.


End file.
